


What Cissy Wants, Cissy Gets

by Naralanis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cissamione, F/F, No Plot/Plotless, Snapshots, Some sexy times, some funny times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naralanis/pseuds/Naralanis
Summary: Some Cissamione snapshots, completely unrelated, plotless, and hopefully fun.





	1. Perfectly Traditional

**Author's Note:**

> This collection of snapshots is dedicated to the darling You-Know-Who-You-Are. Thank your for your lively irreverence, your admirable persistence, and your potentially unintentional hilarity. Maybe you can grace the world with your own magnificent stories instead of bringing other authors down. Would love to read your work sometime! xoxo
> 
> I will keep adding to this collection; it will be marked as a work in progress for the time being.

“You’re remarkably calm about this.” 

“Granger, my mother is an adult; she can do whatever” there was a shudder “or whoever she bloody wants. Just... behave yourself.” 

Hermione scoffed indignantly. “What in Merlin’s name does that mean?” 

Draco narrowed his grey gaze as he glared at her from his desk. “You know exactly what this means. My mother’s subtle, she’s not a hound-dog like you, Granger.” 

Hermione was scandalized. “Hound-dog? Where did you get that impression?!” 

Draco laughed. “Oh, just from Pansy, Parvati, Susan, Cho.... even Luna, which frankly  _really_  surprised me.” He waggled his brows. “They all said, and I quote ‘Hermione’s got game’. Just be aware that the usual tricks won’t work on my mother. She’s more traditional.” 

Hermione huffed as she tossed more papers into her ‘out’ pile. Part of her was a little hurt, but the other was immeasurably flattered. Nevertheless, she glared at Draco. “There are no tricks. I’m just taking Narcissa to dinner, that’s all.” 

Draco’s lips tugged into a sarcastic smug. “Yeah, right.” 

* * *

 

Hermione paid Draco no mind for the rest of the afternoon. He was most likely just trying to get into her head. It had to be weird to have your old school mate go on a date with your mum; she supposed Malfoy was just... adjusting.  

And what an adjustment. Hermione had never expected to go on a date with Narcissa Black, of all people, but that was precisely what was on her calendar—what had been on the agenda for nearly two weeks. They had gotten to know each other better over the years as their work in the Ministry found their two departments overlapping quite often.  

To Hermione’s surprise, Narcissa was positively delightful to be around. Quick-witted, charming, and just overall lovely. Hermione had grown to appreciate the older witch’s poise and enthralling elegance, as well as her sharp mind and incredible sense of humour.  

It didn’t hurt that Narcissa was possibly the most beautiful witch Hermione had ever laid eyes upon. Everything about her was alluring: her voice, her fair features, her rich, velvety voice that felt like a gentle caress. Hermione had been aware of her attraction to Narcissa the moment the other witch had come into her office one cold January afternoon, blonde hair billowing behind her as she rushed in with urgent files to be signed by the Department Head—Hermione.  

From then on, it had been a steady evolution of short talks in the corridors to lunch meetings in the Ministry to inside jokes about the other Department Heads. Through everything, Hermione took her time enjoyed every single second of getting to know Narcissa, because she didn’t just fancy Narcissa. No, Hermione genuinely  _liked_ her.  

That was why she had been so patient, why she had done everything right. Draco wasn’t lying when he said Narcissa was traditional—perhaps a bit old-fashioned, but Hermione wouldn’t want it any other way. Tonight was the big night; after months of dancing around each other, Hermione had finally gathered all of her Gryffindor courage to ask the Slytherin out in an actual, real, proper  _date._ Narcissa was a woman who deserved to be wined and dined, and Hermione would be happy to oblige.  

Thus, she had decided on dinner and dancing; a perfectly traditional, perfectly acceptable old-fashionable date to get things started.  

She was at Narcissa’s door precisely as scheduled, at seven on the dot. Hermione wore a navy-blue blazer and slacks combo Ginny had convinced her to get, and the brunette had to admit her friend had made a good choice. The oxfords on her feet would be perfect for hours of dancing if need be. Hermione knocked on the door in a burst of self-confidence.  

Narcissa answered promptly, her smile almost as disarming as her outfit. Hermione had to fight not to gape, but it was a near thing as her eyes followed the path of exposed skin from Narcissa’s collarbone to the valley of her breasts, barely covered by some exquisite maroon silk that delineated her curves deliciously.  

“Good evening, Hermione” Narcissa drawled, and Hermione gulped as she directed her gaze to Narcissa’s face and only her face, with some difficulty.  

“Hello!” she squeaked, wondering when Narcissa had gotten so tall. Heels, obviously, but Hermione was not chancing another look downwards. “Shall we go then?” 

Narcissa smiled wickedly. “Of course,” she said, looping her arm with Hermione’s. “Lead the way.” 

* * *

 

Hermione felt better once they were seated for dinner—it was quite easy to use the menu to hide a bit of Narcissa’s tantalizing cleavage, so at least they could engage in normal conversation.  

Hermione had specifically chosen a traditional French restaurant because she knew—after months of friendship and maybe grilling Draco on the subject—that it was Narcissa’s favourite cuisine. She chose the perfect Bordeaux—also Narcissa’s favourite—and hoped to even impress the blonde enough by ordering entirely in French. Those summers in the French Alps had served some good after all.  

Narcissa seemed quite happy, laughing at Hermione’s bad jokes and looking suitably impressed at her efforts in the French language. She looked radiant with her cheeks flushed from the wine, hair wound up in intricate braids and blue eyes glimmering with mirth. They were laughing after some joke about Hermione’s last encounter with Fleur Delacour and how the Frenchwoman found Hermione’s accent ‘ _orrible_ _._  

And then Hermione felt the toe of Narcissa’s stilettos grazing her ankle.  

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Narcissa asked innocently, taking a wickedly sinful bite out of her tarte Tatin as Hermione shuddered. 

Hermione could only stare back in befuddlement. Narcissa’s eyes held a twinkle of... mirth? Defiance? 

“Yes,” the brunette replied after an evened breath. “I’m fi-ah!” 

Narcissa’s foot now had moved from Hermione’s ankle to the inside of her calf, leaving a trail of goose bumps on its wake. Hermione had audibly gasped, gripping the edge of the table and making their wine glasses rattle. A few people turned to look at their table, startled by the noise, and she had to smile awkwardly to pretend there was absolutely nothing amiss, even if Narcissa’s foot dragged torturously slowly upwards. She was certain her face was as red as a tomato, and Narcissa only  _smiled._ She knew exactly what she was doing.  

“ _My mother is subtle, Granger. She’s more traditional.”_ Hermione heard Draco’s annoying voice on a loop. Bullshit.  

“Are you sure you’re alright? You look feverish to me.” Narcissa quipped sweetly, her voice dripping like honey. She swirled her wine in the glass in slow, enticing movements. Hermione could tell she was maybe breathing a bit loudly, but it was unavoidable with the way her heart was hammering away in her chest. She had never expected Narcissa to be so...  _bold._ And coy.  

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m...” Hermione hissed as Narcissa reached her inner thigh with a wicked grin. “Ah! The loo! I need to use the loo!” She nearly yelped, chair screeching back as she stood abruptly.  

Narcissa’s grin was positively devilish. “Don’t take too long,  _darling.”_  

Hermione nearly groaned as she high-tailed it out of the dining room with an unbearable heat between her legs. She reached the ladies’ room in a mad dash, rushing to the sinks and unceremoniously bending over the sink to splash some cold water onto her face. And neck. And wrists. Anything to cool down, because there was absolutely no chance she would make it through a night of  _dancing_ if Narcissa continued on that path of destruction.  

She stood over the sink, feeling the water drip from her nose and from some tendrils of hair that could not escape the onslaught of her desperate cool-down. It helped very little; Hermione wondered if she would just need to douse her whole head under ice-cold water for the heat to subside at all.  

There was a click of a lock. 

Hermione’s gaze snapped up to the mirror in surprise, immediately connecting to Narcissa’s mischievous blue eyes. Her throat immediately went dry as Narcissa spoke in a tone that rekindled that heat she had been trying so desperately to quell.  

“I was getting worried you had died in here” she said, glancing over to Hermione, gaze lingering through the mirror onto her chest. Hermione followed her gaze, realizing an unfortunate splash of water had made her white button-up nearly transparent; her crimson brassiere and its lacy patters were rather apparent. Hermione gulped as Narcissa’s heels clicked onto the tile in her graceful, panther-like approach. 

“Thankfully it just seems you’ve gotten a little  _wet.”_  

Hermione nearly convulsed at the other witch’s deliberate, teasing inflection. She couldn’t even bring herself to turn around to face Narcissa, she had to hold onto the edge of the sink with a white-knuckled grip to stop her body from trembling, but it was in vain—her shoulders visibly shook as Narcissa stepped unbearably closer behind her. 

“You’re shivering” Narcissa drawled, lips nearly touching Hermione’s ear. Her arms wound themselves over the young Gryffindor, trapping her against the sink. “Are you cold?” 

 _No,_ Hermione wanted to retort, but her jaw was clenched unbearably tight, because Narcissa had plastered herself against her back, giving her bum the subtlest of grinds.  _No, I’m burning up._  

 _“_ Hermione, darling, you seem to be in some distress” she whispered seductively, lips just barely grazing the sensitive skin of Hermione’s neck. One of her hands moved up Hermione’s arm, finding her shoulder, then her collarbone. That delightfully wicked hand traced a gentle path down Hermione’s sternum, through the damp valley of her breasts all the way to her abdomen, settling playfully right at the waistband of her slacks.  

“Perhaps I could be of assistance, hm?” Narcissa murmured against her neck, nails gently scratching a teasing path along the line of Hermione’s slacks. Hermione sucked in a shuddering breath. 

“M-merlin.” 

Narcissa chuckled behind her. “Not quite the name I want you calling for, but we can practice that... extensively.” 

Hermione tried to retort, but she was spun in place, wedged against the sink and Narcissa’s body once more as Narcissa captured her lips in a searing kiss. Hermione’s gasp of surprise was treated as an opportunity for Narcissa’s tongue to playfully make its presence known, and the brunette could not suppress a moan as her hands held on for dear life to Narcissa’s shapely waist. 

Narcissa let out a triumphant chuckle, teeth nipping at Hermione’s bottom lip. Hermione could swear that, even as she kissed her, Narcissa was smirking rather smugly.  

“Merlin” she managed to choke out once they broke for air. “What brought this on??” 

Narcissa laughed. “You, being a tease for  _months._ I’ve been rather patient.” 

Hermione’s head spun. “Me? A tease? I was being respectful! When I asked him how to go about asking you out, Draco kept telling me you were... well, traditional, y’know?” 

Narcissa rolled her eyes before turning a dead-pan look onto the blubbering brunette. “Hermione. Let me impart you some advice” she pinched the bridge of her nose, as if explaining something to a child. “If you’re interested in bedding a woman... the absolute  _last person_ you should ask advice from is her  _son.”_  

Hermione could only gape. Well, when Narcissa put it that way... 

“Merlin,” was all she could say. Narcissa patted her cheek with a laugh.  

“Let’s get out of here” her gaze became irresistibly provocative. “You’re still calling for Merlin far too often. I ought to do something about it.” 


	2. After-School Special

“Don’t forget! Sixteen inches of parchment on the history and development of the transfigurative formula when we return from break!” Hermione called out uselessly as the throng of students rushed out of her classroom, too excited for the holiday to heed her reminders. She could only shake her head. Her office would still be open during the usual hours for any students seeking assistance, but she doubted she would have any visitors today. Students were not as keen on office hours so near a holiday. 

“Knock-knock, Professor Granger?”

Hermione smiled upon hearing the familiar voice. Not a student’s, but someone infinitely better. She turned to see Narcissa standing at her door, grinning cheekily. Hermione looked at the clock, sending a knowing look Narcissa’s way. 

“Now how did you get here so quick, all the way from the Dungeons? I  _just_ dismissed my last class.”

Narcissa shrugged unapologetically. “I dismissed my second-years early,” she explained without a care, strolling confidently into Hermione’s empty classroom. 

Hermione laughed. “Professor Black! How naughty of you.”

Narcissa's eyes gleamed as they met Hermione’s, and her smirk widened considerably as a deft movement of her wand slammed Hermione’s door shut, lock clicking into place. Her look was positively ravenous as she eyed Hermione hungrily from head to toe.

“I can be naughtier” Narcissa husked, closing the distance between them. “How about I bend you over your own desk?”

Hermione gulped.


	3. Storage Space

Hermione walked through the castle grounds as part of the rotating nightly patrol, bored out of her mind. This was one part of a Prefect’s duties she did not miss; it was unfortunate she had to do much of the same as a Professor. 

Hopefully there would be no student shenanigans afoot. Hermione could only hope everyone would be well-behaved, but with summer approaching, she understood it was a lot to ask. Students were all too eager to end the term with a bang. 

As she turned one of the more deserted corridors on the fifth floors, Hermione nearly squealed with fright as she felt a pair of sure hands grasping her by the waist, abruptly pulling her into one of the broom cupboards built into the castle walls; she heard the door slam closed as she was pulled in, echoing in the emptiness of the corridor.

“Wha--mmph!” A hand impeded her retort. A familiar voice hastily whispered a  _Lumos,_ and suddenly Hermione was face-to-face with a grinning Narcissa, her blue eyes bright in the light produced by her wand. 

“Shh, it’s just me,” she chuckled, clearly pleased with Hermione’s fright. 

“You!” Hermione hissed, untangling herself from Narcissa’s hands. “You nearly gave me a heart att--”

Hermione was once again silenced, but this time by Narcissa’s urgent lips as they sought her on in a bruising kiss. Narcissa’s wand clattered to the floor, still dimly lighting up the cramped space of the broom closet as the blonde’s hands grasped at every part of Hermione they could touch. Hermione whimpered under Narcissa’s touch, but the rational part of her brain would not be silenced.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. Wait!” She gasped, struggling to back away into the wall of the cupboard. “What are we doing? I’m supposed to be on patrol! And this is a bloody broom cupboard!”

“So?” Narcissa quipped, nipping along Hermione’s neck and jaw, hands already working their way under the brunette’s, tracing delicious paths over the bare skin of her abdomen and waist. “Loosen up, Granger. Play hooky.”

Hermione levelled her with a look. “Did you forget whom you’re talking to?”

Narcissa stopped her ministrations, only long enough to pointedly roll her eyes. “Yes, of course, the bookworm to end them all. Stop being such a square” she teased with another gentle bite at Hermione’s pulse point. “Doesn’t it remind you of your student days, snogging in broom cupboards?”

Hermione snorted rather inelegantly. “I can’t say it does.” She quipped. 

Narcissa looked at her, faking extreme pity. “Oh, you poor dear” she shrugged. “Well, all the more reason for you to experience it.”

“But...” Hermione retorted weakly, already faltering under Narcissa’s expert knowledge of her body and its reactions, “... it’s a cupboard.”

Narcissa laughed. “Yes. Let me show you how they are much more than merely storage spaces.”

Another kiss left Hermione feeling rather breathless; in fact, she imagined the oxygen supply to her brain was so low there was really no point arguing. Truly, their present activities were decidedly more enjoyable than some boring night patrol. She tried hard to supress her moans as Narcissa deftly worked her way down the buttons of the blouse she wore under her robes. Narcissa smirked triumphantly. 

“You’ll have to be quiet, dear” she instructed as she kneeled, hands already skimming the waistband of her slacks. “Wouldn’t want to be caught now, would we?”

Hermione hurriedly clasped a hand to her mouth. 

* * *

 

“What is it, Mrs. Norris, darling? Some students out of bed, eh? We’ll get those wee bastards, we’ll catch them red-handed!”

The caretaker took a sharp turn following his viciously eager cat, giddy with the opportunity of catching some impudent students out of bed well after hours. Mrs. Norris stopped at a broom cupboard; the door shook violently; doubtlessly due to some adventurous snogging. Filch felt some sort of glee in breaking them apart; however, as soon as he neared the door, he heard breathless whimpers coming from within. 

_“Oh, Cissy, Cissy, Cissy!”_ a voice gasped and moaned, caught in the throes of passion. Filch’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“ _Hush now”_ came Professor Black’s admonishing voice, muffled by something other than the door that separated the two in the cupboard from Filch and his cat. “ _Do you_ want  _to be caught with your knickers around your ankles?”_

Filch grumbled, looking at Mrs. Norris and stepping away. 

“Nope. Not tonight.”


	4. Urgent Business

“Cissy” Hermione moaned as Narcissa leaned over her, pushing her into her office chair and effectively trapping her. “I have a meeting with  _your son_ in half an hour!”

Narcissa laughed as she nibbled on Hermione’s earlobe, hands gripping the arms of Hermione’s chair so that the brunette had nowhere to go. 

“And you think you can last until then? I admire your confidence, but you must know I see it as a challenge.” She quipped.

Hermione couldn’t contain the delicious shudders ravaging her body. Narcissa had marched into her office at the Ministry like a woman on a mission; she had ignored Hermione’s protesting secretary and slammed the door on her way in with no qualms about her interruption. One look at the blonde’s determined blue eyes had told Hermione exactly what Narcissa was looking for. 

And that was how she found herself in this situation. Pinned to her own chair, with a delectable view down Narcissa’s blouse, with—hold on, was that the periwinkle lace brassiere... 

“Good Godric, woman” Hermione rasped out, voice hoarse with desire. She couldn’t help it; Narcissa Black had that effect and the woman bloody knew it. “What brought this on?” she asked, bringing a tentative hand to Narcissa’s breast, giving it a squeeze and delighting with the way it nearly spilled out of its lacy confines. 

“Urgent business” Narcissa replied, taking out a random piece of paper from somewhere in the vicinity and pushing it to the front and centre of Hermione’s desk. “Here, you must sign this immediately.”

Hermione laughed, reaching around Narcissa to take a look. “You sneaky, cheeky thing” she groaned as Narcissa delivered a playful bite to her neck. “This is a receipt from Flourish & Blotts” she accused. 

“Is it really? My mistake.” Narcissa bemoaned dramatically. She stepped back, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Ah, well, I shouldn’t let my visit go to waste, should I?”

Hermione nodded vaguely, too dazed by Narcissa’s intoxicating allure; her scent, the taste of her lips and the sway of her hips as she gingerly lowered herself to the ground and...

“I do love your work skirts” Narcissa commented, looking up at Hermione like a predator about to strike, slowly inching the garment upwards, teasing the sensitive skin of Hermione’s thighs on her way up. “They’re are so incredibly practical.”

“Practical... ooh” Hermione moaned as Narcissa’s hands found her underwear, sliding it down her legs in one surprisingly swift movement. Narcissa removed the undergarment entirely, holding it daintily by her finger. 

“You won’t be needing these anymore” she declared emphatically, unceremoniously tossing them over Hermione’s chair. Without hesitation, she kissed a path up Hermione’s now exposed thigh; a questing hand scouted ahead, finding Hermione’s slick heat with ease.

“Hm, urgent business indeed.” She drawled evilly. 

Hermione held onto the arms of her chair with a white-knuckled grip, her shoulders trembling with the force she exerted, the feel of Narcissa’s fingers and mouth teasing her so devilishly, and the anticipation for what was to come. She gritted her teeth, trying desperately to suppress her moans. 

Suddenly, there were four consecutive raps on her door, and Hermione squeaked in abject terror. It was Draco, already letting himself in. In a panic, Hermione violently pushed her chair forward; the desperate move drove Narcissa under her desk, her face—her lips, soft and deadly—flush against Hermione’s most sensitive spot. As she tried to supress another moan, Hermione could swear she heard and felt Narcissa chuckle against her, sending delicious vibrations through her entire body. 

“Hiya, Granger, sorry I’m early, but there were some inconsistencies with the signatures of the last batch.” Draco babbled on as he approached, tossing a stack of papers onto Hermione’s desk. He seemed to notice her altered state. “Merlin, Granger, are you alright?”

Hermione nodded, far too quickly. “I’m ah-aah-absolutely fi-ah! Fine!” She hissed doing her best not to squirm as Narcissa traced a maddening pattern with her tongue. She took one shuddering breath trying to focus. She tried to close her thighs to alleviate the pressure Narcissa was so expertly providing, but that was in vain.

“Wha-ah-at inconsistencies are there?” She asked, trying to make her voice sound normal, but Narcissa had just taken her throbbing bud between her lips and Hermione nearly jerked at the sensation.

“Well, for starters, there’s a systematic neglect of proper protocol...” Draco eyed her curiously. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Hermione kept nodding furiously, but suddenly jerked in her seat as Narcissa suddenly filled her with two fingers. “Ah! Yes! Ciss-cissy-systematic nngh-neglect of proper, p-protocol you say?” she squeaked, unable to do anything over her ragged breathing and the violent shudders as Narcissa began thrusting, discreetly but efficiently.

Draco didn’t look like he believed her. Hermione swallowed. “Ah-ah, actually I might be c-c-coming down with sssomething” she hissed, very much aware the tremble of her legs gave away to Narcissa how close she was to her peak. She did  _not_ want it to happen when Draco Malfoy was in the room, especially not when his mother was the one responsible.

The thought should have dampened her spirits considerably, but Narcissa was simply too talented. Hermione felt the blonde’s fingers curl inside her and...

“DRACO LEAVE, NOW!” She bellowed, scratching the wood of her desk in utter despair.

“What, but...” he protested weakly.

“Nnngh NOW!” 

Draco must have mistaken the panic in her voice for fury, for he high-tailed it out of the office in a flash, slamming the door behind him. Hermione had already been pushed off the edge; her fist pounded her desk as Narcissa continued to stimulate her through her aftershocks, her maniacal glee as palpable as Hermione’s arousal. 

When Narcissa finally resurfaced from under her desk, she looked completely dishevelled, lips puffy and red and her usually immaculate bun askew atop her head. Still, the blonde looked absolutely triumphant. Hermione could barely muster a glare; her body still shivered with the remnants of pleasure. 

Narcissa grinned cheekily. “I do so love a tight deadline.”


	5. Reining it In

“Hermione, stop panicking. Merlin, I thought you said you rode before!”

Hermione gritted her teeth to stop them from clattering in fright. It was no use. “I did.” She hissed. 

Narcissa huffed, clearly exasperated and not quite knowing what to do about it. “Then snap out of it. Don’t show fear, they know.”

Hermione dropped the reins. “I can’t do this” she declared emphatically. “I’m sorry, Cissy, but I just can’t.”

“I don’t understand,” Narcissa said, pouting, clearly saddened. “How is it any different?”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated, but not wanting to take it out on Narcissa. She knew her girlfriend meant well. She had been looking forward to a quiet afternoon riding through the beautifully manicured grounds of the Black family’s summer estate in Aix-en-Provence. 

When Narcissa had suggested horseback riding, Hermione had been giddy to return to an activity she had loved before she left for Hogwarts and during every summer spent away from her beloved castle. It was not a well-known fact, but Hermione Granger was always at ease on a saddle; be it for dressages, show jumping, or even just a good old-fashioned gallop through endless fields, Hermione not only loved riding, but was quite good at it. 

Learning that Narcissa not only also loved riding but  _owned_ several prize-winning horses in the French summer villa was like the cherry on top in a relationship that was pretty much already perfect. Hermione allowed herself to imagine long rides into the sunset. When Narcissa had come down for breakfast this morning already equipped with her riding breeches and boots, Hermione’s heart melted a little bit. 

There was only one little, tiny, miniscule but significant detail that had somehow been overlooked in all of their discussions about horses and horseback riding. Hermione inwardly cursed the Wizarding world for throwing her that particular curveball. 

“Cissy” Hermione murmured as kindly as she could muster. “These horses  _fly!”_

Narcissa crossed her arms. “How would I have known you had never been on a winged horse before? You said you loved riding!” She argued weakly. 

“Think about how ridiculous that question is for a minute.” Hermione deadpanned, hands still shaking over the reins she held just barely. To his due credit, Wind Rider—Hermione scoffed at the name—had been remarkably calm about having a jittery witch upon his back. Hermione’s legs were tucked behind his great black wings—she flinched whenever they moved, even if only slightly. 

“I’m sorry, Cissy” Hermione said again, sadness and some guilt clearly evident on the Slytherin’s face. It was clear Narcissa had been looking forward to this just as much as she had. 

“I don’t understand” the blonde pouted. “You’ve ridden a dragon, for Salazar’s sakes. And Thestrals!” her eyes narrowed. “I don’t buy it. I think you need the right incentive.”

“There is no possible incen... hey, lady, what are you doing?” 

“Move forwards a bit” Narcissa commanded, and maybe those marvelous boots gave her an added air of authority, because Hermione immediately complied. Narcissa stepped closer to the horse and then, in a swift move Hermione could just  _swear_ had to be aided by some kind of magic, mounted it, front pressing against Hermione’s back.

Hermione shuddered with the feel of Narcissa’s breasts against her back. “This is not an incentive” she husked as Narcissa’s arms wound around her waist to take control of the reins. “It’s a distraction.”

She felt the vibration of Narcissa’s hearty laugh reverberate through her body. “Do you trust me?” The blonde asked, tightening her arms around Hermione as she spurred Wind Rider to begin a gentle trot out of the stables. Hermione shivered.

“I trust you” she squeaked; the horse was now speeding to a canter and Hermione gripped the saddle with every fibre of strength she had in her. “It’s the horse I don’t trust!” 

“Don’t worry” Narcissa whispered softly, her arms tightening even more around Hermione. Her tone was mischievous when she spoke next. 

“This isn’t even the  _mane_ event.” 

Hermione turned her head slightly. “Was that a fucking pun!” 

Wind Rider sped towards a full gallop, and before Hermione could protest much more, his wings unfurled to their impressive full width. Within seconds, they were airborne.

* * *

 

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Narcissa questioned as they returned to the stable. Hermione looked a little green around the edges, but she had to admit having Narcissa’s arms around her as they flew on a winged horse had been extremely helpful. Plus, the view of the famous lavender fields in Provence was truly breath-taking from above.

“It was fine” was all she could say. After all, her legs were still a little wobbly.

Narcissa laughed. “Thank you for the  _unbridled_ enthusiasm.” She quipped, ignoring Hermione’s exaggerated eyeroll, twirling the brunette in place so she held her in her arms in a loose embrace. “Thank you for flying with me. I’ve wanted to bring you here for ages.” 

Hermione chuckled, returning the embrace. “I had no choice” she joked. “You kidnapped me.”

Narcissa dropped a kiss onto Hermione’s nose. “It was a  _spur_ of the moment decision” Hermione rolled her eyes again, but Narcissa was undeterred. “I think it was worth it,” she breathed, moving to Hermione’s neck and giving it a playful nip that had Hermione shuddering. “I also think you were very brave, and bravery like that should be rewarded.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, but she couldn’t quite protest. Narcissa captured her lips in a fierce, searing kiss, backing her up until she was flush against the stable wall. The blonde’s hands were already under her shirt, and Hermione tugged desperately at Narcissa’s beautifully tailored maroon riding coat, nearly ripping its silver buttons away. 

“My, my” Narcissa quipped, allowing Hermione to slide the coat over her shoulders, without a care as it dropped to the floor. “Someone’s eager for a roll in the hay.”

“For the love of Merlin,  _rein it in_ with the wordplay.” Hermione hissed, hands travelling down Narcissa’s back to settle onto the shapely curves of her ass, confined by those terribly, terribly sexy riding breeches that were doing crazy things to Hermione’s brain. And those  _boots,_ Merlin, those boots. 

Narcissa only chuckled darkly, too busy kissing Hermione senseless. She removed the brunette’s hands from where they rested, ignoring Hermione’s protestations, and pinned them above her head onto the stable wall. 

“I think I might rein  _you_ in” she challenged, muttering a spell under her breath. Hermione felt the bridles and reins resting on hooks by her sides magically wind themselves around her wrists, just tightly enough to trap her hands in place. Narcissa, happy with her handiwork, pushed herself in between Hermione’s legs, her thigh brushing against the Gryffindor’s centre in one deliberate move.

“Lovely” Narcissa whispered against Hermione’s skin, unbuttoning her shirt and pushing it over the brunette’s shoulders. Her nails scratched gentle patterns at Hermione’s sides, her waist, under her breasts, her abdomen, lining the waistband of her breeches. 

Hermione was too breathless to speak; Narcissa’s eyes looked at her with indescribable hunger and desire, shining like beacons in the relative darkness of the stable. She shivered as Narcissa deftly relieved her of her belt, teasingly running her fingers over her waistband in the sweetest form of tortured. 

Narcissa kissed her again, a hand delicately making its way into Hermione’s breeches. “Ah,” she gasped, breaking their kiss momentarily, delighted with the heat and wetness she found there. Hermione trembled in her boots; she feared her legs would give and she would be held only by the charmed restraints on her wrists.

Narcissa swirled a maddening design with her fingers purposefully avoiding Hermione’s most sensitive spot, clearly on a quest to draw this one out for as long as possible. Hermione wanted to protest, to whine and beg, but all she could muster was a pathetic whimper.

“Oh, you poor, poor dear” Narcissa murmured huskily in her ear. There was a sudden thrust and Hermione gasped loudly as she felt herself filled with heat; Narcissa’s thigh pushed further into her, creating even more delicious pressure over the hand that now thrust steadily into her. “Look at the state you’re in.”

“Ciss... Cissy...” Hermione managed to breath out, gritting her teeth as her body trembled. Narcissa looked smug, lifting one of Hermione’s legs to her waist, holding it in place as her other hand thrust into the brunette with abandon. 

Hermione began to gasp loudly, unable to contain her cries as Narcissa inserted a second, then almost immediately a third finger, pacing her thrusts expertly, nipping at her neck and kissing her softly in just the perfect intervals to push her higher, higher, and even higher still. 

Her body slammed into the wall as her hips bucked with each of Narcissa’s masterful thrusts; her wrists straining against their restraints in a desperate gambit to hold on to Narcissa before she pushed from the edge. Narcissa was relentless, drinking in her gasps with sheer triumph, and Hermione was certain she would not be able to hold on for much longer.

“Darling” Narcissa husked, letting Hermione’s leg grip onto her waist as her free hand found the brunette’s breast under her bra, giving the nipple a slight pinch that made Hermione shudder. Hermione’s movements became more and more agitated, frantic and desperate, and when Narcissa deftly brought her thumb to press onto her clit, just enough, just perfectly, Hermione thought she would lose her mind.

Narcissa’s fingers curled deep in Hermione’s warmth, sending the helpless Gryffindor careening off the edge of pleasure with a strangled cry. “Come for me.”

Hermione cried out, legs bucking with the intensity with which her climax washed over her. Narcissa wound an arm around her waist, propping her up against the wall.

Narcissa waited for Hermione to compose herself once again, dropping soothing kisses onto her neck, her cheeks, and her parted lips. Hermione groaned as Narcissa’s fingers were removed, and the blonde smirked, very happy with herself. 

“Lovely” she quipped, bringing her own fingers to her mouth in a display that had Hermione shuddering all over again. “Maybe I can make use of my riding crop next time, hm?”


End file.
